


A Nephew through the Eyes of the Aunt

by for_darkness_shows_the_stars



Series: Potentiam Tuam Sanguinem [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Beru deserves ALL the parenting awards, Fluff, Gen, I'm just saying, Luke is too precious for this world, Skywalkers are eldritch horrors I'm sorry I don't make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_darkness_shows_the_stars/pseuds/for_darkness_shows_the_stars
Summary: When the Larses agreed to take care of their nephew, they hadn't exactly been expecting him to be quite so ... inhuman.But he is family, and on Tatooine, you take care of your family because there's no-one else to take care of you.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Beru Whitesun
Series: Potentiam Tuam Sanguinem [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711054
Comments: 7
Kudos: 112





	A Nephew through the Eyes of the Aunt

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!!!

**A Nephew through the Eyes of the Aunt**

Humming a melody her father always used to sing when she was younger (even though she is fairly certain she is butchering it with her complete lack of musical talent), Beru adds a few pinches of dried and crushed aromatic leaves she’s recently began growing around the moisture vaporators to the slowly stew that’s slowly cooking on the stow.

Plants are a rare commodity on Tatooine, and what little flora grows here is sinewy and tough, not unlike its people, but Beru likes to think that they both hide something more—after all, what Core Worlder would take a look at the shrivelled, brownish things that grew here and even think to use them for nutrition?

But people here know better: there’s something special about the people who lived, and endured, and prospered here—or at least some of them. She will _never_ pretend there is anything more to slavers than _scum_.

But it’s a fine day, and Beru does not want to spend it on thinking about them. It’s not like she would ever be able to change anything. No, change has to start from within. If she manages to teach her small family that, it will be enough.

She puts the lid back on the pot, letting it simmer in peace and scuttles away to Luke’s bedroom. The boy is snoozing soundly in his crib, little pudgy fists closed, the tuft of fluffy blond hair that grows from his scalp glowing golden in the suns’ unrelenting light.

Beru feels her lips curve upwards at the sight.

Then, as if sensing her presence, Luke’s big, blue eyes open, and he smiles, wide and joyful, showing off his recently sprouted teeth. “’ello,” he coos.

“Hello, Luke,” Beru says, striding a few steps forward. He is such a sweet child, even this at this young age. At first, she had worried, certain that his mother’s aristocratic blood would make him too gentle for this sort of environment, this sort of life, had spent many a sleepless night pondering … but her brave little boy had proven her wrong. Beneath his sweet demeanour, beneath the gentleness of his manner, the kindness of his words … there is durasteel.

Luke runs a critical eye over her, and frowns. “You awe upwet,” he accuses, pointing one tiny finger at her.

“Upset? No, no,” Beru says quickly, “darling, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be upset about, I promise.”

“Then why upwet?” the toddler asks, his gaze unrelenting.

“How can you even tell?” Beru says, exasperated.

This makes Luke pause. He purses his lips while an adorable, tiny frown of concentration appears on his brow. “I dunno,” he says. “I just can.”

He looks up again, and there is _something_ about his eyes that makes Beru shiver.

They are blue, they have _always_ _been_ blue, yet at this moment, for a fraction of a second, she thinks she can see the entire colour spectrum in there, including the colours that ought not be visible to humans.

She thinks she can see vertical lenses as black as the void, stars and galaxies swirling around them, and she feels _trapped_ , and she has to escape, because if she doesn’t—

She wrenches her gaze away from Luke’s, flexes her fists, just be sure she is back, in her body, on the farm. It takes her several seconds to calm her breathing enough to docus on her surroundings.

When she raises her gaze back to Luke, the boy has a devastated expression on his face. “Auntie Beru?” he whimpers, moisture pooling in those same, terrible eyes.

“Lukey,” she breathes. “Lukey, it is okay, dear one. It’s okay.” She stumbles forward, and envelopes the boy in an embrace. “It’s okay.”

She is not sure what that was. Maybe that is the power that caused the Jedi to take Anakin away, something deep and terrible the likes of her can never understand—but she refuses to believe that last part. She _will_ be enough for Luke, she will have to be.

Just because he is different, it doesn’t mean she would ever give him up, especially not to the Jedi. If Owen’s earlier determination hadn’t been enough, this moment alone makes Beru swear she will not see her Luke be corrupted by Kenobi. A secret, evil part of her is almost glad the Jedi are no more, if them being around means losing Luke … not that they would ever deign come to Tatooine, anyway.

“I’m sowwy,” Luke mutters, big, fat tears rolling down his smooth cheeks.

“No, no, no, dearest,” Beru whispers to him, “there is nothing to apologize for, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. Your silly auntie just overreacted.” She presses a kiss to his hair. “I love you, Lukey … tell me you know that … please.” Her voice breaks at that last word.

But Luke, her dearest, looks up at her, blue eyes (normal eyes, human eyes). “Don’t cwy, Auntie Beru,” he tells her. “Pwomise.”

Beru uses her sleeve to wipe the tears from her eyes, and presses another soft kiss to Luke’s brow. “I promise, my Lukey,” she tells him. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if I'd absolutely butchered toddler-speak ... English's not my first language, and therefore I don't know anything about the intricate cooing rituals of English-speaking children ... or anything about children in general ...


End file.
